A Week In The Life
by misskam
Summary: Alternative universe where Frank is a prison guard, lots of angst and character whump.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: Character abuse which might get upsetting. Language and angst.**

**Thanks to _Reincarnatedwitch_ for being epic. As usual. Merci.**

Frank had a stinking rotten cold. His head hurt, a familiar feeling of pounding cotton wool trying to escape his brain. His eyes were dry and itchy, like he had hay fever despite it being November. It was days like this when Frank wished he was still young, when his mum would bring him hot soup and plump his pillows. He could stay at home and sleep off the worst of the infection.

He wasn't young, though. His mum had passed away, he had no family left to take care of him. He couldn't stay at home, he had to go to his crappy night job to pay the extortionate bills on his crappy flat that he needed to live in, alone.

So Frank dragged himself out of bed at six in the evening, and went to stand under the spray of his shower for five minutes. He pulled on his slightly creased uniform – a white shirt, black trousers, and his belt with the taser. He deliberated, and eventually took a jumper instead of his coat, just to hide the taser on the bus – people gave him strange looks.

The ride was quiet, the over head luminescence making the skin on his hand look even paler than it normally was. The ink on his hands standing out in high contrast. He glared at it. The tattoos in combination with his appalling school grades were the reason he had to have this job. He had no desire to be a prison guard – he was fed up of the bulkier inmates trying to push their luck and tackling him. He could normally handle them fine; he was short, yeah, but he was strong. Didn't stop them trying though.

'Evening, Frank' the middle aged woman at the sign-in desk said, taking only a cursory glance at his ID. Frank gave a non committal grunt before signing in and going to check out his timetable. First job of the evening, escorting a prisoner 342-7 to a new facility. Oh joy of joys.

'Jepha?' he called. Jepha was another guard, the only one near enough Frank's age that he could talk to. 'What's up?'

'Escorting 342-7?' Frank left the question open. It never hut to have an idea who the person was, especially when Frank was going to spend the next hour and a half cuffed to him in a mental cage on wheels.

'Gerard Way, busted for assisting manslaughter. Quiet guy, artist. No trouble.' Jepha said, zipping up his coat – his shift was over.

'Why's he being moved?' Frank frowned, looking back at the paper work.

'I dunno. Be grateful you're not moving Wentz – he was a nightmare, I swear, hollering and flailing like. . .'Jepha launched onto his story of Pete Wentz being taken to the psychiatric ward. He'd been causing trouble for weeks, and the bosses didn't want another riot, so he was shipped out.

'. . .So I signed the papers and legged it. Anyhow, got to go' Jepha finished with a smile. Frank waved and headed off in the opposite direction, to the cells. The facility was a maze of the same cream coloured walls and grey bars. A few of the prisoners called out, but years here had made Frank take a deep breath and keep walking. Another reason he hated this job.

'Gerard Way?' Frank called when he stopped outside the cell. It was a double-sleeper, with a bunk bed.

'He's signing his papers' The other inmate looked up from his book. Bert McCracken, he was actually a certified psycho, unlike Wentz, who was just nuts. Frank nodded once. Bert had killed a married couple; Frank didn't know, and didn't want to know, the details. He seemed nice enough, on the surface. But two riots had introduced Frank to the crazed look in his eyes – the way they lit up when he had whacked Greta, another night-guard, over the head. Frank wouldn't forget that, not ever.

'All yours.' Frank was pulled out of his day-dream by Lyn-z, the only other female guard. She was escorting Way back to his cell, and Frank gave her a small smile. He ignored the way that she had left the cuffs a little loose on Way's wrists, and was holding his arm instead of the chain between the cuffs. It was technically breaking regulations, but Lyn-z was nice to all the prisoners who deserved it. She uncuffed one of Way's wrists and moved the cuff to Frank's outstretched hand.

'Right, let's get you moved' Frank said. Way nodded to the floor, his mop of black hair blocking his face. Frank did actually recognise him, seen him a few times in the corner of the yard with Bert, talking and whispering.

Way shuffled along beside him with little trouble, staring at the ground. This was easy enough, Frank thought. It made a change from hauling guys along. Frank didn't even have to argue Way into the bus, he just sat in the seat Frank pointed to, and let Frank sit beside him.

Frank was beginning to worry though. Gerard hadn't looked at him, said anything. It was like Way was withdrawn into his head, and that never boded well. Frank was peering at him sideways when it happened. The driver, who was on his last route, started coughing.

'You all right?' Frank said, leaning into the isle. The driver nodded a few times, but didn't stop coughing. Frank could see him turning slightly pink in the rear view mirror.

'Pull over' Frank insisted. The driver did, stopping slightly jerkily. Frank was in full panic mode now. Gerard had looked up, and his mouth was moving minutely at the corners. Frank stood in the isle, tugging Gerard with him as he reached the driver. Taking his pulse with one hand, he reached for his radio to call the facility.

Then, his arm was being pulled across his chest, Gerard's arm was over his head – and the cold chain of the handcuffs was taught across his throat.

'Do not touch that radio' Way's voice was calm and low. 'Let's take a step back' he said, pulling gently on the chain at Frank's throat.

'Gerard, this isn't going to work' Frank tried, gently flexing his fingers at the chain around his throat. He felt Way's breath against his ear for a moment. 'It already is working' he said, as his free hand unclipped the taser from Frank's belt. The only weapon he had.

The driver had stopped moving now, his face no longer pink, but very pale. Very, very pale. 'Is he dead?' Frank said.

'It doesn't matter' Way replied, nudging his leg into the back of Frank's knee. 'Walk' he said. Frank couldn't tell if Way meant that it didn't matter if the driver was dead, of it if didn't matter if he was alive. Frank hoped he was alive, the guy probably had a family somewhere, who were expecting him home.

Frank almost tripped on the steps of the minibus, but Way pulled up sharply on the chain and Frank kept moving. Way's entire attitude had changed. Frank was acutely aware of the power shift, and it made him anxious.

Gerard unwound the chain from his throat when they entered the not-quite woodland on the roadside. He pushed Frank down until he was kneeling. Frank looked up with defiant eyes.

'What's your name?' Way said, rolling up the sleeved up his jumpsuit in a way that made Frank's spine shiver.

'Frank Iero'

'Okay Frank. I want you to listen to me very carefully' Way said, couching down and taking the sides of Frank's head in his palms. They weren't even slightly sweaty, unlike Frank's head, which was shining. Frank nodded.

'Take out your cell phone' Way said.

'I don't have one' Frank said quickly and flinched when Way moved one of his hands, slapping Frank across the face before pulling Frank's face close to his.

'Do not lie to me, Frankie. Take out your cell phone' he hissed. Frank fumbled with his free hand, trying to get across his body to the pocket it was in. Way noticed immediately, and pushed his hand into the pocket, pulling it out for him.

Way placed the phone carefully on the ground before pulling Frank onto his feet. It wasn't hard – Way wasn't exactly big, but was taller and had lithe muscles that rivalled Frank's.

'Stamp on the phone' Way said. Frank blinked at him, but did as he was told. Way could have done that himself.

'Good. If you try anything Frankie, I will kill you. Do you understand?' Way said in his calm, controlling voice. Frank nodded.

Gerard slapped his face again, and Frank was sure his cheek was red now. 'I said, _Do you understand?_'

'Y-yes' Frank stammered. Gerard smiled at him, before taking hold of Frank's hand, like he was a child about to cross a road. 'Okay Frankie. We're going to go on a walk.'

'The driver?' Bob asked, as his colleague sat back in the car and buckled up. He'd not gone in the hospital, he never did. Hospitals gave him the creeps.

'He'll be fine. Non-lethal poison. He remembers pulling over, and that's it.' Ray said and Bob pulled away from the hospital.

'Poison?' How had he got that into him?

'We need to talk to a Guard "Jepha". He mentioned that one of the inmates fell into him on his last journey. Could have injected him – the convict was on his way to a psych ward, Way might have persuaded him to do a favour'

'Right. Oh, Schechter called. The guard missing is Frank Iero, no family, young guy. Not exactly hostage material.'

'Apparently the guards are cuffed to the inmates in transit. Iero is going to become a liability pretty soon'

'That's what I was worried about. Schechter also said that Way was in for assisted manslaughter, he took the fall for the prime suspect.'

'The prime suspect never did time?' Ray gawped.

'Nope. Here's the kicker, Prime suspect is Way's younger brother' Bob said.

'Oh shit.' Ray pretty much hit the nail on the head there.

Frank had been walking for hours, it was completely dark now, and he had no idea where he was going. His hand hurt form the cuff – it was normal for it to be a bit sore after a inmate move, but he'd been wearing it for as long s he'd been walking – seemingly forever.

'Keep up' Way huffed, tugging.

'Where are we going?' Frank mumbled.

'You are going to be staying here if you do not keep up' Way growled.

Frank snapped. 'If you kill me you'll have to drag my body' he said. Which was true. Dead or alive, these cuffs couldn't be pulled off. Goodness knows, Frank had tried as he walked.

'If you're dead, it'll be a lot easier to dislocated the bones in your hand and pull these cuffs off' Gerard stopped, emphasising his point with a tug. Frank swallowed and moved along in the darkness.

He couldn't help wondering when Gerard Way's kindness, or patience, or whatever it was that was keeping Frank alive, would wear out. If the roles were reversed, Frank knew he wouldn't keep a guard cuffed to him for very long.

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**  
><strong>For <em>Reincarnatedwitch<em>, because I made her wait so long! Sorrrrrrrry**

Ray stuck another picture onto the clear squadroom divider – _Inmate: Pete Wentz under custody of Guard: Jepha Howard. _ He picked up a soap marker and drew a neat, wavy arrow over to the other picture it, _Gerard Way._  
>'I'm not cleaning that up' Bob said. Ray let his mouth curl up slightly, his partner, his boss, really, always mocked him for his neat, methodical approach to cases. Bob just preferred to let everything stew inside his own head.<br>Ray gazed at the wide-eyed face of Frank Iero. Big, bambi-like brown eyes made him looked younger than he actually was. Ray looked over to the stark, prison issue photo of Way. Ray shuddered. He had to write things down, just to get them out of his head. If he let it stew inside his head for too long, he'd be no help to anyone. Least of all Frank.

Mikey wiped his nose on his arm and peered out of the blinds. This was such a bad idea. What if something went wrong? What if he didn't act quickly enough? Mikey slumped into the worn sofa. This was such a bad idea, but he needed Gee back. He _needed_ his big brother.  
>'Watch some TV. Read a book. Just, do something, Michael. Anything.' The man said from across the room. Shorter than average, the red head didn't look up from the screen of his laptop. Mikey nodded, but didn't do anything. He was too wired, too anxious. Gerard could be coming through the door any second now, if what the man said was right; or Gerard could be lying dead in a ditch.<br>'He's fine, stop worrying' the man said.  
>'...Yeah.' Mikey mumbled.<br>'Pete promised.' The man finally looked up. That said everything really. Patrick trusted Pete to do as he said he would, just as much as Mikey trusted Gee to come here when, if, he escaped.

Frank was dead. He felt utterly cheated. All those years of Catholic school, all those early Sunday mornings, and _this_ was his repayment? It wasn't the illness, though his head felt swollen and his sinuses burned, and his legs were filled was sawdust. It wasn't even getting kidnapped (Which, even inside Frank's head, felt weird. He hadn't been kidnapped, as he wasn't a kid) from his shitty job by a nutcase.  
>What really grated Frank's nerves was the seemingly infinite patience Way had. Every time Frank fell over, too tired and stuffy to keep walking; every time Frank landed face first into damp grass, or stagnant mud; every time Frank jerked harshly on the handcuffs and caused Way to stumble too. Way just pulled him up, set him on his feet and kept going.<br>The third time it happened, Frank was certain that was going to be it. Way was going to pull the taser from his waist, and jam it against his chest. Frank knew everything there was to know about a taser. An uncomfortably strong electric shock, designed to incapacitate the inmate, it was forbidden to be used near the heart or head because it could cause a heart attack or stroke. A fact Frank was suddenly aware, the inmates knew too.  
>Way didn't touch the taser though, just kept walking. New Jersey was a small state, but dear lord, Frank had been walking his entire life. Was he in Michigan, now? Tennessee? Frank whimpered as his foot caught on a root, and he went sprawling forwards again.<br>He felt two hands under his armpits, urging him up. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think, he could not walk anymore, he couldn't. Pushing feebly on his hands, with a lot of help from the hands behind him, Frank managed to get to his knees. He looked up.

Iero couldn't walk anymore. That much was starkly obvious. Gerard had been tempted to stop earlier, find somewhere dry and let him rest. But when Iero had dragged himself up, like a marioneete on loose strings, Gerard had eased them forwards.  
>Now though. Iero's uniform was covered in grass stains and mud – he'd almost spent as long on the floor as his feet. His face was grubby and pale as he looked up at him. Gerard studied him carefully for a minute, just as a spattering of water fell from above. A drop landed on Iero's cheek, and washed clear a path of skin.<p>

'I can't' Iero breathed. 'I'm sorry, I can't'

The guard wasn't healthy, he'd noticed that earlier in the day, watched him blow his nose and sniffle numerously. He should have taken the day off. But Gerard was glad he didn't. He didn't know how, or why, but Mikey was helping him. He needed to take this opportunity, he needed to see his brother. It was just sad that this particular guard had gotten involved. Sad, but necessary.

'Another half an hour' Gerard said, using the cuffs to yank a coughing, spluttering Iero to his feet. He couldn't get too attached. Prison taught him that. The face of Gabe Saporta taught him that.

Nothing came up when Frank retched. Just a sour taste into his mouth, that Frnak was fairly certain had come from the depths of his lungs. He was glad it was raining now. It meant that as Way pulled him up, he couldn't tell that it wasn't rain making tracks on his face.

**Please read and review! Thanks **


	3. Chapter 3

**It's really here! Please, accept my apologies, for my extreme tardiness getting this written! Thanks always to _Reincarnated Witch_ who pokes and nudges me when I show signs of neglect, or, you know. Sleep =P**

'Time to get up' a voice cut into Frank's dreams. Somebody was clapping loudly, deliberately. 'Up, Frank. Get UP'. _SLAP_. Frank was up.

'Good boy, Frank. On your feet.' Frank blinked at the pale face, the dark, serious eyes. 'Frank?' _slap. _ Oh yes, that's right.

'Sorry, sorry' Frank said, scrambling up. It wasn't even light yet. Frank was damp from the morning dew, his hands were now rotting-leaf muddy and slightly pruned from resting in a puddle which, oh fantastic, had soaked into his work trousers.

'What are we waiting for? Let's get going' Way smiled. Frank nodded but kept his eyes downcast. There was something for inherently child-like about Way that was hard to fit into this... situation; along with the cuffs that were a recent and permanent connection between the two.

* * *

><p>Brian Schechter might have been perched on his desk. He might even have been leaning on his desk. But Ray could tell, after many years, that what Brian was doing, was preparing to become a molecular puddle on the paperwork.<p>

'No leads' Brian said, letting his foot swing lifelessly.

'No-where to start' Bob said. Bob was a glass half empty kind of guy.

'Anything could be a lead, from their caffeine addiction to their scene links' Ray added. Overnight, it had been silently and quickly agreed that they weren't just dealing with Gerard, but both of the brothers Way.

'Nothing special about Iero?' Brian said, letting his fingertips rest on the forehead of the bambi-eyed photograph.

'Nothing special' Ray and Bob said in tandem.

* * *

><p>'Tell me about yourself, Frank' Way said as they passed over the summit of a wooded hill.<p>

'Nothing Special about me' Frank said, wary. He has been slowly searching his memory for what he knew about Way, but there wasn't a lot. He was older than Frank, had been inside since before Frank started. Assisted Manslaughter – Frank knew from experience that often sounded a lot less harsh than it was. Manslaughter had _malice aforethought. _Intent to kill.

'Tell me about your ink, Frank' Way said. Of course, he was an artist.

'Just, urm. You know, like it. ' Frank shrugged out the most non-committal answer he could manage. He wasn't discussing the positives and negatives of colour and solid tattoos with a murderer.

'I can't stand needles. Give me the creeps. Can't even get jabs' Way said as they padded down the hill. He stopped and Frank jerked, they'd fallen into sync walking chained together. Way raised his free arm and pointed. 'That's where we're headed Frankie boy.'

'What's there?' Frank's tongue felt numb, and massive in his mouth.

'There? That's my Grandma's house, Frank. Got to go pay a visit' Way grinned at him, that honest, open grin of a child.

'Oh' Frank said. Way was nuts. Completely, utterly, irrevocably, nuts.

* * *

><p>Mikey was making coffee. Huge surprise. He was also checking his phone, as though in the two seconds since he last flipped it open, he would have received a message that mysteriously didn't make his phone vibrate.<p>

'Mikey, will you sit down?' Patrick said. He was leaning back on the sofa, hat over his eyes, feet on the coffee table. Mikey flicked his hat off and sat next to him. Patrick grabbed it and pulled it firmly down over his prematurely-balding head.

'You want a hug or something?' Patrick said, ever wary of the youngest Way brother.

'No.' Mikey said, gazing out of the window, over the hills. The 'I want Gee back' was left unsaid.

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